To Sing the Tortured to Sleep

I. The Awakening

Pylane. 1841 C.E.

I woke to the clatter of a carriage, stumbling over a gathering of rocks. Its recovery was swifter than mine. I couldn’t remember falling asleep, but my back ached from lying across the hard wooden bench of the main chamber of a carriage. The bench was decorated by soft white cushions, but they did little to shield me from the hard surface beneath. Traces of gold lined the carriage from the ceiling, to the floor panels. Other than the wood and gold traces, the carriage was entirely white. Or it looked as if it had been, until I’d been brought inside, covered in dirt and blood.  

I felt numb, but I wasn't sure if it came from the cold. Only now did I realize that my head rested on the lap of a raven haired gentleman in his early twenties. When he noticed me wake, he carefully untangled his fingers from my hair.  His eyes pierced mine, a calm blue that reminded me of the ocean, yet there was something more urging about them. The simple contact of our eyes was paralyzing, as I was filled with familiarity. His smile was gentle, as if willing me to trust him. He wore the red suit of what resembled a military uniform, a nametag placed firmly on his chest that read: General Montgomery. “Good-morning, Beautiful. How was your rest?” he asked innocently.

That was the first time I heard his husky voice, yet I recognized it, somehow. The memory refused to come forward, I slowly gave up. I was unable to answer, unaware of how long I'd slept. My eyes lingered on his, I was certain I knew him.

The man gave me an expression that I assumed was worry, but it was mixed with something else I couldn't figure out. “You can speak, can’t you?” he half joked.

Whether he truly believed that I was incapable of speaking, I didn’t know. But one thing was certain, I couldn’t look like a fool in front of a complete stranger. “Of course I can speak,” I replied, surprised at the rasp in my voice.

"What's your name?" he asked. His eyes gave me the once-over I'd seen so many times before. The only difference was, this time I was half naked, wearing little more than a tattered nightgown. I didn't recognize the gown. It couldn't have been mine, but then who's was it? I must have been quite a sight for the sophisticated man. I was dirty, freezing, pale, and sleepy, and he was well kept with a strong demeanor.

I questioned whether it was safe to give out my name to a stranger, especially in my situation. Had I been kidnapped? Did I even know these people? Then again, even if I trusted this man, I couldn’t remember my name.

I tried to sit up but was stopped by the nagging bullet of pain that shot through my head. It was probably best to stay put.

"Settle down, you're in no condition to stress yourself," he warned, the worry in his eyes flashed for a second, before returning to the look of moderate indifference he had only a moment ago.

"What happened?" I asked, clearing my throat.

"You don't remember?" he asked, rubbing his temples with the pads of his fingers. "What do you remember?"

I would've said something, if I could think of anything to say. Where had I come from? How had I got here? What was my name? My face mimicked the man's. The same measure of worry masked my identity, and the same confusion wrapped my being. My heart jumped as I heard the whisk of branches along the side of the carriage. Evidently the driver had rode too close to the trees, although the carriage recovered smoothly, and my heartbeat returned to normal.

Unsure where to start, the man began his interrogation. "Is there anything you remember?" he whispered, suddenly aware of the presence of the driver and the small crack in the window that could let out the slightest noise. His jaw was set. "Do you remember your name?"